


Rapture

by JerichoJaspersJeromeJr



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe, Breathplay, Electricity, Hypothermia, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multi, Ritual Public Sex, Under-negotiated Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-20 16:10:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9499589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JerichoJaspersJeromeJr/pseuds/JerichoJaspersJeromeJr
Summary: The Rapture - Trials by which the Six grant their blessing are first mentioned in the ancient tomes dating back to the Cosmogony, some two millennia ago. Raptures demand a show of ardent devotion from the petitioner through the form of sacred intercourse with the divine.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [kinkmeme](http://ffxv-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/841.html?thread=316489#cmt316489).

Noctis lays spread out on Bahamut’s palm, panting, trying to will himself through this. Two thousand years of the Crystal’s power and Bahamut’s sinking shards of it into Noctis piece by piece.

At first he tried to think of it as just another series of Royal Weapons. The experience isn’t dissimilar, the thud of the shard sinking into him, the breathless moment where its power binds to his soul. But these are no chaste strikes to his chest, Bahamut pierces him from all angles, golden blades sliding into Noctis’ shoulders, sinking into his thighs and piercing his arms.

It shouldn’t feel as good as it does, this blue-white icy-hot not-heat that pulls on his soul, demanding as much as it gives. 

“You do well,” the god intones, words Noctis feels more than hears, and then there’s a shard at his lips. Noctis opens his mouth obediently and moans around it as its power flows against the shards already in him, sending ripples of magic erratically through his body.

He takes another shard through his hip, a second to the soft part of his belly, and a third to the hollow of his throat that has him writhing, and then he loses count and all he can do is hang on.

Bahamut pierces him with the power again and again and Noctis takes it, lets it fill him up to his soul even as his body cries out against it - it’s too much, this was never meant for mortals - until the god sinks two shards into him at once, through chest and groin, and Noctis’ body rebels. He comes as tears leak from the corner of his eyes, his orgasm endless and unbearable, like an echo of the ritual itself.

Afterwards he lays still, just trying to pull his mind back together as the Draconian gazes down at him patiently, impassive to the mess Noctis is in. How long have they been doing this? Days already? Weeks? 

The other Raptures had been more . . . wham, bam, thank you elemental demiurge. This was a whole different level, congress not just with Bahamut but with the Crystal itself and Noctis’ mortal body is too weak to take more than a fraction of the Crystal’s power at a time.

He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. He doesn’t actually need to breath in this place, let alone eat or sleep, but the act of breathing helps ground him. Reminds him of the extent of himself.

Only a few kings in the history of Lucis have ever forged Covenants with any of the Six - the ritual of the Rapture is dangerous, sometimes even fatal, and usually embarrassing. It’s the one part of the Cosmogony Prompto actually knew about. 

It’s the one part EVERYONE knew.

Even Noctis had thought it was funny, back when it was nothing more than an another ancient ceremony buried in dust. Titan’s Rapture had even been one of his and Prompto’s running jokes, back in school, as if any hormonal teenager in history could have passed-up that many hard-as-a-rock puns.

The real ritual had put an end to those jokes.

Titan’s idea of foreplay had been to give Noctis a blinding migraine, which Noctis should have taken as a warning for how bad the experience itself would be. Noctis had spent it trying to work himself down on a stalagmite that vibrated like an earthquake while somewhere above him chaos raged and his friends fought off what felt like the entire Imperial Army. 

He could barely even walk afterwards, which of course meant that was also when Ardyn decided to steal their car. They had to complete Ramuh’s Rapture by chocobo-back and, even with hi-ethers, Noctis still had to spend the first few days riding with a cushion.

The Ramuh jokes had been all Gladio’s, back when they were kids. They hadn’t even been good jokes, mostly about Noctis having to wear a fake beard if he ever wanted the Fulgurian to even touch him, because Noctis at 18 had been lucky if he managed enough peach fuzz to shave once per week and Gladio had probably been shaving in the womb.

Gladio had been a little smug when he turned out to be right.

Instead, Noctis had found himself kneeling naked in the mud, one hand bracing himself against the sacred tree while he jerked himself off with the other. Rain had pounded against his back, keeping his hand slick, and for a moment it had almost seemed kind of normal, like jerking off in the shower, and then the first lightning bolt hit.

Every nerve on his body came alive, his nipples drawing tight and aching and his cock jumping. His prostate lit up inside him, like it was being touched from every angle at once, and Noctis had to brace both hands against the tree to stay upright.

Then the second bolt hit.

He doesn’t remember much of what happened after that, just overwhelming sensation, everywhere, and the sound of himself screaming as he came.

He had woken-up afterwards bundled in blankets, the world swaying under him. It took him a moment before he realised he was on the back of Gladio’s chocobo, slumped back against the man himself with one of Gladio’s arms holding him firmly around his waist.

“Back with us already, huh, Noct?” Gladio asks.

“Yeah,” Noctis croaked out, vocal cords rough and sore.

They rode in the rain for a while before Ignis said, “Well, two more trees to go.”

Noctis remembers he whimpered.

Leviathan’s Rapture had nothing been but punishment, the goddess taking her resentment and injured pride out on his body. She trapped Noctis under-water, sending currents swirling under his balls and over his cock, water pressure pushing his legs apart, and kept him there until his head was filled with a ringing whiteness.

She let him up to breath at random intervals, sometimes enough to take a few breaths, sometimes just long enough to let him feel the air against his face and trick him into sucking-in a breath just as she dragged him down again. 

He could hear her laughing at him through the water.

She’d been toying with him, letting him struggle to the surface to steal another breath, when something slammed into him, knocking the air out of his chest and scraping bloody gouges along his left arm. His vision was blurry and swimming with stars by then but he could still make out what she hit him with.

The ruined fragments of an arched doorway.

His terror grew stronger, ripping through him, and Leviathan laughed harder as she broke his will just as she broke Altissia all around him. He finally came out of a combination of fear, pain and adrenaline, the worst orgasm of his life.

He wasn’t really in a good headspace after that, even before everything went to shit.

Then Luna was dead and Ignis was blind and Gladio was never good with anything he couldn’t fight head-on, Noctis knew this, had known it for years, and in an ideal world maybe they could have all gone in for therapy but by the Wisdom of the Six they'd been trapped in a tiny train car together instead, with no choice but to keep moving.

By the time they had worked through that shit the hard way Prompto was gone too.

They had approached the Rapture of Shiva with grim determination and not much of a plan, beyond “let’s get there first and we’ll think of something”, because even Ignis with his stoic practicality had been trying not to think too hard about how Noctis was going to have to fuck a 500ft corpse. 

Ardyn showing up had made it worse, Gentiana showing up had made it awkward and Gentiana turning out to be Shiva had made it . . . confusing, but Noctis hadn’t been about to complain.

She’d been gentle with him, laying him out against the floor of the train car so her various bodies could take their turns. It'd even been kind of nice at first, even though he’d been numb with cold within minutes, but her bodies were almost human, pert breasts and a cute ass, and for once it was no struggle to get it up.

By the time her third body took her turn with him he was shivering violently and by the sixth he’d known hypothermia was setting in. 

By the last he didn’t care any more. He must have come at some point, it was required to complete the ritual, but he didn’t feel it when it happened. The cold had ebbed away and everything felt warm but distant. He was so sleepy, when was the last time he had a nap?

Footsteps against the train floor caught his wandering attention, then, just as a familiar face came into view.

Even in the grip of delirium the fact that Ardyn was standing above him while Noctis was naked and frozen to the floor was enough to send a sharp stab of panic through him.

“Ah, Noct,” Ardyn tutted, “Loved you and left you, has she? Luckily for you, I have experience with that.”

And with a smile, he dropped a Curecast Firaga straight onto Noctis’ crotch.

He’s caught-up in the memory of the leaping flames when Bahamut’s voice brings him back to the present. “Oh King of Kings,” Bahamut rumbles, shaking Noctis from the last of his recollections, “Are you prepared? We must continue.”

“Yeah, Yeah, I’m . . . I’m good.” Noctis says, holding back the sigh.

Bahamut is not much for foreplay, the first shard slips in just behind Noctis’ balls and he has to grit his teeth to keep from yelling.

He’s writhing against Bahamut’s palm by the time the Draconian pushes a glowing shard the size of a sword through his thigh. He rides through the confusion of his body, it doesn’t hurt, he tells himself, but the pleasure that pierces through him is too intense, bordering back on pain again.

He’s not strong enough for this, he starting to fear he’ll go mad with it. He tries to find some distraction, to take refuge in his memories, but there’s no safety there.

He learns, very quickly, to stop thinking of his childhood. The Regala had always meant his father to him, and safety, so he never thought about how deeply sexy that car was until he remembers the gleam of the sunset off the chrome at the exact same time as Bahamut sinks a shard into his flank.

He tries to think of the fights he’s been in but his mind strays to cacataurs and their rains of needles, and then to what it would feel like if Bahamut just pierced him with everything, all at once, and he's shivering as he shoves that thought away with force.

Memories of Cup Noodles? Become memories of what Gladio’s mouth looked like, wet from the broth.

Memories of Carrots? Now tied to a memory of Ignis cleaning the damn things, his elegant hands sliding confidently up and down their lengths.

Memories of Chocobo? If he still felt like praying to the Six, he’d thank them for Prompto’s obsession with the birds, so Noctis ended up thinking about the brightness of his smile and not anything more unfortunate.

He tries to digs deeper, into the darkest parts of his life, Ignis' injuries, losing Prompto, stumbling alone through an abandoned fortress with no weapon but a ring he has no idea how to use. The anger and grief distract him, for a while, and then he remembers the teasing lilt in Ardyn’s voice and his cock twitches.

He closes his eyes in defeat and starts to wonder if going mad wouldn’t be the best option after all.

He feels the pulse of power wash through him even before it touches him and he cracks open an eye back open to see a shard the size of a broadsword hovering over him. He has just enough time to gasp before Bahamut lets the shard fall and Noctis screams as the light cleaves through him, straight through his prostrate, through his perineum, through his dick, and comes as his mind flies to pieces again.

The aftershocks take forever to ride through, he’s not even sure he can remember his own name by the end of it. He curls into a ball, whimpering, trying to find himself, to piece his sense of self back together, so Bahamut can begin again.

~~~~~(Outtake)~~~~~~

It takes three days to fight their way through the ruins of Insomnia and the sight that greets them when they reach the courtyard at the front of the palace is a sea of red.

“Why are we stopping?” Ignis asks.

“It’s um . . . blood.” Prompto says haltingly, “It’s a lake of blood.”

“Is it deep?” Ignis asks after a pause.

“We’re going to have to find out the hard way,” Gladio says.

“I’ll take the lead” Noctis says, because if worse comes to worst he can at least warp out. He takes the step forward, then pauses.

“What’s wrong?” Ignis asks.

Noctis lifts up his shoe and stares at the sole, “It’s not blood. I think it’s . . . rose petals?”

They all jump as speakers crackle to life above them, squealing static resolving itself into soft violin music. Around them, hundreds of candles flare to life.

“Ifrit, the Infernian! He doesn’t share the Glacian’s fondness for mankind,” Ardyn calls out from the staircase, “So I thought you might need some help getting him into the mood!”. 

Ardyn flings out an arm, throwing something at them, and Prompto gives an undignified squawk when it hits him straight in the face. Noctis gingerly lifts it off him with the tip of a sword and stares at the item in the flickering candle-light.

“Oh come on!” Prompto says, “Lace underwear is like the opposite of fire-safe.”

**Author's Note:**

> 1) Curecast is something that shows up in the pre-release materials but never made it to the game itself. Magic does not work this way. Please set your friends on fire responsibly.
> 
> 2) I pretty much wrote this entire thing just so I could do Ifrit's scene.


End file.
